


Marian and the Beast

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen, Kossith, Qunari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke made contact with a saarebas, and then slaughtered the arvaarad. Did you think there would not be consequences? Secret Swooper 2011 fill for ainulindale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marian and the Beast

Varric is the first to mention it.

“We're being followed.”

“Mm, I know. Not exactly subtle, is he?” she chuckles.

“I don't think they know the word. It's a disadvantage of being that size, probably.”

With a sigh, Hawke stops the group, foot tapping with irritation as she turns to shout. “You might as well come out, you know!” Over her shoulder, Aveline and Anders share a confused look. Beyond the jutting cliff, a tall figure emerges. The Kossith shows no shame in being caught – in fact, as he strides up to the group, he shows no emotion at all. Aveline reaches for her sword, but Hawke stays her blade.

“See? Now we can talk like civilized folks,” she smiles. The Kossith does not react beyond folding his arms, an act that leaves Anders unable to look away from the giant biceps. With a fearful glance at Hawke, Anders takes a step back.

“Quiet for a giant,” mutters Varric.

Hawke smirks, but gets down to business quickly. “What do you want, then?”

“I have been sent to observe you.”

“Us?”

“You. The one who returned to us the _saarebas_ and then killed those who would eliminate the threat you impose.”

“Oh, just little ol' me. What a surprise.” She rolls her eyes. “And why do I need to be watched?”

“You had extended contact with an unguarded _saarebas_. You may still be influenced.”

“And if I am?”

“We will kill you.”

“Good to know.” She lets out a long sigh. “Look, if you want to do the whole sneaking-around thing, be my guest, but I'd wager you could find out exactly what you need to know _quicker_ if you stuck around. I don't bite.” She grins.

“Much,” mutters Varric, receiving an elbow to the head for his troubles.

The Kossith considers her words. “There is wisdom in your suggestion,” he agrees finally.

“Good. What should I call you, then?”

“I am the Sten.”

“The Sten?”

“Yes.”

“Nice name.”

“It is not my name.”

“Then what _is_ your name?”

“I am the Sten.”

“I'll just call you Sten.”

“ _Parshaara_.”

“Right.”

*

They walk along the cliffs of the Wounded Coast, the human daughter of an apostate and the Kossith.

“Tell me about Seheron.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm interested. And before you ask, no, I'm not about to launch a full-scale invasion.” She smiles wryly. “Think of it as... seeing the world through another's eyes. That's your role, right? Tell me about your homeland.”

“Very well.” The Kossith clears his throat, a rumble that runs right through the human. “It is an island. The sea is in the very air we breathe, and it engages the spirit of the Qun, invigorating us as one. We fight to possess the land and its people.”

“Is that why we always come here? For the sea air?”

“I live in the knowledge that you will one day embrace the Qun. I do not need to force that change upon you with a scent.”

The human grins. “Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense. What are the people like there?”

“They are fragile. Prone to frighten easily. Many have submitted. They are stronger for it.”

“Well, defecting to the winning side makes sense...”

“I did not say we are winning.” A beat. “But we shall emerge victorious.”

“What makes you so sure?”

They stare out across the water for a long while. Finally, he speaks. “The Qun is the incoming tide. Even the cliffs fall in the face of the sea.”

*

Aveline never comments outright, but her disapproving frown is enough. Hawke avoids her more and more these days. And Isabela...

Well. Isabela always _seems_ cheerful enough, but the fleeting look of dread whenever Hawke suggests an outing is worrying. And she always has some excuse up her sleeve. Hawke had asked Varric about it, once. The dwarf mulled it over for a long moment before shrugging. “Your guess is as good as mine, Hawke.” Which sums it all up really, she thinks now – they were just guessing, because the bloody woman would not let anyone in.

Varric, on the other hand, was honest about his concerns.

“I'm just saying is all.”

“What exactly _are_ you just saying, though?” asks Hawke as they browse through the market stalls for weapons. Nothing jumps out, though she is never surprised by this. She does it less for the wares and more for the company.

“Well, how many Qunari -”

“Kossith.”

“- whatever. How many have we killed? Personally, I mean.”

“But they were Tal-Vashoth.”

“What does that _mean_ , though?”

“They've turned their back on the Qun. Come on Varric, you were there when we learnt this.”

“Yes, and I know that the only source of information we've had on any of this is from the guy who's pissed off that he's stuck here. The same guy who, might I add, has told you repeatedly that they're going to eventually _invade_ us.”

“Varric...”

“I've _seen_ clever deceit, Hawke. And so have you. Remember Petrice?”

“Vividly. But, by your bastard son of logic, we also have no evidence that they've been anything _but_ honest. And Fenris says -”

“Fenris was a slave for a very long time, who admits to having huge gaps in his memory.”

“Varric!”

The dwarf stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All I’m saying is that we have no way of knowing what kind of game they're playing here, and it's... unsettling. That's all.”

“Duly noted. Now, can we go and get on with the drinking?”

“Gladly.”

*

Hawke asks fewer and fewer questions, though each specific one leads to more thought-provoking answers.

“What does that symbol mean?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“The one on your pendant. I've seen it on shields and armour too. Is it part of the Qun?”

He reaches for the item in question, a diamond of metal lines crossing over each other. “It represents the Qun,” he says finally. “ _Meraadbas_. Part of the tide. It reminds us, in shape and meaning, that we are nothing more than a piece of the whole, a part of the Qun, and that we strive not for ourselves, but for all.”

“Oh.” She studies it closer. “I see. If you were to remove any part, even the smallest, it would not be whole.”

“That is correct.” He tucks the amulet back under his armour. “It is a symbol often adopted by those who have been assigned to the Ben-Hassrath.”

“The defenders of the faith. I've met one of their agents. A... _tallis_? Her rank, right?”

For the first time, he looks slightly surprised. “Female _tallis_ are extremely rare. Never kossith. She must have been extremely skilled.”

Hawke chuckles. “Well, I think _I_ could have bested her...”

“You are an...” He rumbles again. “An exceptional circumstance.”

“Is that a compliment?”

He glares at her, and she laughs.

“Alright, alright.” They continue walking. “So did you ever work for the Ben-Hassrath?”

“It was my first assignment. But as I developed, my role was changed.”

“How old were you?”

“When?”

“When you became a Sten.”

“It was many years ago now. I was one of the few in my position to have an _asala_ that was not a weapon.”

“And the _asala_ is like... a soul, yes?”

“Correct.”

“Is that amulet your _asala_?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

*

Isabela finally sits with her. “I'm sorry, I know I've been... well, completely absent. I'm just... I am _so_ _close_ to getting the relic back.”

Hawke smiles. “I figured it had to be something like that. And you don't need to apologise to me, although Varric's stubby little fingers aren't as good at picking locks as yours. He has all the callouses and none of the gold to prove it.” They laugh, and before she can continue the drinks arrive. They toast to absent friends – a tradition picked up since the death of her mother.“So what exactly is this relic?”

“Old. Smelly.” She thinks again. “Probably cursed, the way I'm faring. But other than that, not much I can tell you.”

“Right.” She is sceptical but says nothing more, sipping at her pint.

“So how are you and the big lad? Varric tells me you're barely apart.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Oh come on, it's not like _that_. He's just... interesting. I'd never really considered another way of life, but his is completely alien to me. Not many people get to study the Qunari way of life. I might even write a book about it,” she adds loftily, and Isabela laughs.

“So you're telling me you haven't even _thought_ about...”

“Okay, once, but come on. The guy would rip me in half!”

“And therein lies the fun.” The pair burst into laughter, and it feels like Isabela was never away. The pirate leans back, considering her drink thoughtfully. “The beauty and the beast. It's like one of those silly landbound fairy tales... except there won't be a happy ending.”

Hawke shrugs. “There never is.”

*

Of course, she finds out what the relic is eventually, but Isabela vanishes with it. The betrayal hurts, but the worst of her wounds is standing between her and the Keep. In Hightown, the group stop, surrounded by warriors. At their head is the one man she would never seek on a battlefield. Over her shoulder she hears Aveline barking orders, and skirmishes start around her until it is just the Sten and the last scion of the Amell family.

He faces her, sword drawn. “Hawke.”

“I am sorry that it has come to this,” she says, drawing her own. “But I will not back down.”

“I expect nothing less.” There is a strange look in his eyes as he pulls down his helm's visor. “You will make a fine addition to our forces one day, _kadan_. A worthy follower of the Qun.”

“I will honour your name in battle.”

They clash, the ringing of metal barely audible above the other battles surrounding them. But for the warriors there is nothing else. She will pull no punches, and he will not bow easily. The world melts away around them as the fight continues. He nicks an arm. She winds him. He sends her staggering. She regains ground. It feels like it will never end -

\- and then she sees a gap. Darting under his wide blow, she swipes wildly at his throat, hitting the target. Blood spurts across her face as the Kossith reels back, a last rasp of air escaping him as their eyes meet. This is right, he seems to say. This is honourable.

He drops to the ground with a booming thud, the Sten defeated.

Hawke drops to one knee, reaching for the now-bloodied amulet that still adorns him. With a sharp tug, she frees it, regarding it in a gloved hand for one moment before throwing it around her own neck. She would wear it until the very end, the honour of the Qun always kept close to mind.

“Varric.”

The dwarf appears at her side, bloodstained himself but still standing. Behind her, she hears Aveline swearing loudly. “Good to go,” he starts, but his voice stops at the look on her face.

“Never tell this story.”

A hand rests on her arm, and she blinks hard, turning to her companion.

“A story to rest in the arms of Bianca,” he says simply, and that is more than a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write! I hope that ainulindale enjoys it as much as I did.


End file.
